


Coming home to you

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [70]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, HYDRA Husbands, Insecurity, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: He's later than usual.





	Coming home to you

**Author's Note:**

> There was a joke about them getting a puppy and calling it Frankie and when it misbehaved, Brock called him Frank so Jack immediately knew if the dog pissed him off or not that day. lol The name just stuck with me. (Because of course it would.)

Brock was late.

It wasn’t his fault and there was no way he could help it, but he still felt shitty when he let himself into the house a few hours before dawn. The inside was so quiet that Brock’s ears still rang with the droning hum of chopper blades and gunfire, and it seemed oppressively devoid of life as he silently crept through the hall. The dog didn’t come to meet him and that itself was hard to see as anything but a bad sign. Frankie always made sure Brock knew he was being watched, even if he’s the one who brought him home that first day when he was only a pup that fit in the palm of his hand. No matter what Jack said, his dog (it was definitely _his_ dog) still wasn’t convinced Brock was a good thing to be allowed inside the house.

Brock stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water to wash the metallic taste festering on his tongue, then in the laundry room to strip himself down to his boxers and dump his clothes into the washer, his gear heaped on the dryer to sort for the morning. His skin still reeked of smoke and blood, his hair gritty with dirt, and he needed to shower more than he wanted to sleep. He didn’t know if Jack had gotten a chance to leave the house or if he waited around for him to show up past the time he said he would, didn’t know if it would get him an absent shoulder for not making it in or if Jack was even home which would in turn cause him to feel lousy. The uncertainty clung like another layer of grime and he should really check his phone. 

He went to find Jack, instead.

Flickering light and quiet voices echoed from the open door when Brock finally made his way to their master bedroom. There was a split second moment, an instant flash of fear that always happened when he got to this point, where he wondered if Jack dragged someone home for some post-drink company and Brock was going to catch them in bed together. It wasn’t a thing that Jack did because Jack wasn’t _them_ but he always wondered if today was the day he’d be proven wrong, that the pin finally dropped and everything was over once again. When he saw it was just the two local news reporters going over the latest headlines, he dragged a hand over his hair and his shoulders lowered a small bit.

Jack was sleeping next to Frankie on the bed, the blue light from the TV draining his skin of any color, leaving him pallid and washed out. He looked like he’d fallen asleep in the middle of changing into something to lay out in, his house slippers that Brock always tripped over still on and his shirt hanging open. He was laid backwards across the bed and quietly snoring with the dog stretched out by his hip. His arm was still nestled in a sling, and the bruising beneath his shirt still looked angry though Brock couldn’t help but find the whole scene cute. Frankie glanced at Brock when he stepped into the room, whining softly and letting out a yawn. He laid his head back on Jack’s stomach.

Brock sighed and turned the television off, then the bathroom light on. Jack stirred, eyes blinking slowly open before he saw Brock and smiled.

“You’re safe.” Jack said, pushing himself upright with his good arm. The dog whined again and Jack absently scratched his ears.

“It wasn’t a big op.” Brock said, leaning against the dresser, turned to keep talking Jack’s way but looking for clothes to change into. “What ‘appened while I was gone?”

Jack glanced down at his sling before glancing back up at him. “Nothing much. Resting easy like you wanted.” He said absently. “Caught up on some new reads.” His unbuttoned shirt slid down his shoulders to reveal more aging but still somewhat fresh bruises.

Brock hissed in sympathy like he did when he left and stepped forward to get a closer look. “Shit, talkin’ like ya didn’t fall outta a fuckin’ window and was lucky somethin’ broke yer fall. Did ya keep icin’ it?” 

“I’ve known how to take care of bruises since I was about six years old you know. When I met you, remember?” Jack said, looking amused. He let Brock help him out of his shirt. “How was the rescue?”

Brock shrugged, gently touching the purple and bluish skin. It was hot and swollen still, and he felt the throb of his own deep bruises and mending cuts. “Not good.” He finally admitted, because he was working on letting Jack help with the bad days. “I woulda rather laid out in bed with you.”

“It was exciting over here” Jack replied, though Brock was sure he was being sarcastic, fingers coming up to Brock’s face. “Were you able to save people?”

“A few.” Brock said, closing his eyes. He opened them immediately, not wanting his memory to show him the remnants of the ones that didn’t get that chance. Jack was studying him carefully, like he could see it all still haunting Brock when it never had before. “It took a while to negotiate and take back the buildin’ without alertin’ any of ‘em. Still managed to be a mess.”

“You saved some though, that’s still good.” Jack said. He put his good arm around Brock’s waist and Brock let himself be pulled onto the bed, straddling Jack’s lap and holding on tightly. Jack didn’t flinch, even though Brock had to be hurting him.

Jack made Brock think that getting hurt wasn’t that bad. Not this kind of hurt.

“I’ll try and watch yer back next time, it shouldn’t have happened.” Brock promised against Jack’s skin. The words felt automatic, though he meant them every time.

“You can’t always be watching me, you got a job to do.” Jack warned.

“I could say the same shit to you, asshole.” Brock threw back at him.

Jack laughed and Brock felt it take up residence in his chest, the feeling that he was home and that love that was always there pushed the bad a little further away. Brock’s eyes had fallen shut, and this time he didn’t need to keep them open. He felt Jack brushing his fingers through his hair.

“As much as I like you on my lap in your underwear, you really need to shower.”

Brock grunted. He was well aware. The bathroom was all the way across the room though, and contentment to where he currently resided was easing into him. He leaned in close instead, his nose pressed into the crook of Jack’s neck, just where he couldn’t smell anything that reminded him of a few hours before; just a faint hint of sweat, and the always lingering pine in Jack’s soap. The shower would still be there in the morning, and the quicker he could curl up with Jack, the faster it would come.

“Come on.” Jack said, and Brock knew from the shift of his muscles that he was about to be lifted up.

His mind relayed that Jack was hurt, a damaged arm no less, that shouldn’t be used to carry lazy boyfriends and that he would definitely do that. Brock opened his eyes and stood up, arching his back so his spine cracked and realigned. He looked down at Jack, still sitting on the bed and clearly torn between amusement at Brock’s worry and unhappiness that Brock was clearly babying him.

“You should go back to sleep.” Brock said, yawning. “I’ll be in bed soon.”

Jack caught the yawn, and then put his hands on Brock’s hips to steer him back a few steps so he could stand. “I’ll come with you.”

Brock took his hand. There was a part of him that wanted to refuse and wash the remains of the whole mess alone. There was also a part of him that shook with relief that Jack had offered, and he didn’t have to ask. He was too tired to really think about it, but it would be nice to have company. “If yer comin’ with me, it’s gonna have to be a cold shower so we ain’t gettin’ any ideas and lingerin’ in there.” He definitely wasn’t letting Jack con him into something else other than rest for the two of them.

“Better for me.” Jack said agreeably. He walked alongside with Brock towards the bathroom, his good hand pressed to the small of his back like he always did to remind Brock he was there and always would be.


End file.
